


Trials Never End

by BrowneAshes



Series: Doom Upon All the World [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Extra, F/F, F/M, Fan Comics, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Night Terrors, one-shot collections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrowneAshes/pseuds/BrowneAshes
Summary: Cousland struggles to be normal after becoming a Warden, Commander and King. Plagued by night terrors, he finds himself slowly unraveling.A short, three-page comic.





	1. Night Terrors

  
  



	2. The Great Catnapping Horror of 9:Something Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I still find it super insulting Bioware didn't give us the option to protect Anders after Awakening. 
> 
> Or bone him.

“You can’t be serious!”

From across the large study, Queen Anora looked up from the stack of weathered parchment she had been sorting through. Sheet, after sheet, after sheaf of letters and petitions from commoner and allies alike.

Orlais always gave her such joy to read - the language was half poetry and half religious allusion on the best of days and thinly veiled threats on the worst days. Their current agenda focused on bringing Fereldan back under Orlesian rule under the saccharine guise of ‘reuniting old allies.’ At least it was a step up from Kirkwall and other Free Marchers petitioning, demanding and threatening her on behalf of their 'Refugee Situation.’ Anora tended to slide _those_ letters toward her husband. If he wanted to play King, he would _play_ King. Let him deal with everything concerning the Blight. To his credit, he always undertook such matters with appropriate gravity and dedication which pleased her.

At the moment, her _king_ was half-draped across _her_ armchair, next to _her_ merrily crackling fire, in _her_ study. He would never say it outright, but Aeden Cousland loathed being alone. She broached the subject once early on in their partnership - he was quiet, but he _never_ left her _alone_ \- to which she received one saucy remark regarding her apparent beauty and magnetism and 'How could she not see that he was _irresistibly_ drawn to her, he couldn’t help himself.’ A few nights later she was awakened from a dead sleep by the screams of her new husband. Then she understood, and never questioned him again.

Still, the appropriation of all her things as his own occasionally grated on her nerves. Folding her hands across the stack of papers she sat, watching and waiting for her attention-seeking husband to explain the reason for his outburst. After all, one didn’t tend to blurt out such phrases without the intention of catching the ears and eyes of their companions.

But he was apparently engrossed - and slowly sliding out of the chair as he devoured the last of the letter. By the time his boots hit the floor, the single page letter with it’s shining silver griffon seal had been absorbed and promptly tossed into the fire. The rest, also all marked with Grey Warden seals, were thrown onto the seat of the chair he once occupied. With the grace of a warrior, Aeden stormed toward the door without so much as another word.

Which was to say, very unusual. Anora simply couldn’t let such a mystery linger - not when it concerned her partner. Oh, she was more than capable of ruling on her own - and he knew it - but that didn’t mean she hadn’t grown attached to the vainglorious creature she now called her husband. She would miss him, she admitted to herself - much as she missed Cailan.

“Has something happened?” Anora inquired to her husband’s retreating form.

As if remembering that his life consisted of more than himself, Aeden turned about-face with an apologetic dip of his head. With a grand sweep of his hands he flashed her a charming smile as he crossed back across the queen’s cozy study. “A great and terrible injustice is all.”

“That’s all?” she inquired with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said bending across the table to bestow a gentle kiss upon her forehead. He was ever so careful not to disrupt a note, or quill, or any letter; she’d have his hide. And while that was sometimes quite enjoyable, he simply didn’t have the time right now. “ _Catnapping_.”

“Anders alright?”

“Oh, he will be,” Aeden smiled back at her, charmed she remembered the mage. He only traveled with him on a brief journey, nothing quite as large-scale as uniting all of Fereldan and Orzammar against the Blight. Apparently, Aeden was far more taken by the mage than he knew and talked about him just as frequently as he did of his other many inspiring companions. Schooling his dopey grin back into suave stoicism he took a step back away from her. “I’ll be back soon, with adequate pomp and circumstance, of course.

"Oh, and burn the letter you’re reading. Bastards supported Howe,” he said in passing as he spun back toward the door with a duelist’s grace and sauntered out.

Anora glanced down at the letter briefly before looking back at the quickly disappearing shadow of her husband. With a sigh and a annoyed lick her lips she straightened the stack and decidedly _didn’t_ burn the offending letter. For as much as he mocked Sister Nightingale, he certainly managed to pick up a few unfortunate skills from her…

—

“Tell me _everything_.”

Anders glowered into the rust-colored drink Aeden had shoved into his hands. It looked like something Oghren would drink on a dare. Maybe that’s where Aeden heard of it - it wasn’t an appetizing thought. Especially after the incident at their Joining. Even now, Anders would think of it and shudder. Good thing Oghren went last or the number of Grey Wardens in Fereldan’s rank would still be three.

Swallowing, Anders clutched the tankard with the full intention of merely making his friend _believe_ whatever sludge he was just given was, in fact, the comforting lifeline that Cousland apparently thought it was.

The ex-Commander of the Grey plopped next to him at the little bench, occasionally raising a hand to greet another Warden of Vigil’s Keep. But, Anders was pleased to note, that Cousland never once let his attention stray far from their conversation. He had answered his letter with utmost speed - which, to be perfectly honest, Anders didn’t expect. He didn’t expect Aeden to come at all, actually. It was… a pleasant surprise. One that he was grateful for - though he tried very hard not to think about it too deeply.

“I already did,” Anders replied with the barest hint of petulance, glancing sidelong at the Warden and King of Fereldan.

“In a _letter_ ,” Cousland scoffed with the barest hint of offense. “Tell my _face_.”

With a morose sigh and the faintest of fleeting smiles, Anders began anew.

“They took Ser Pounce-a-Lot away - for no other reason than because it was,” and here Anders performed a remarkable impersonation of … Someone. Aeden had lost track of the new recruits since stepping down as Commander of the Grey, but he could only assume the voice Anders was parroting to be a direct, if ridiculous, likeness. “'Making you grow soft, Warden Anders. A Grey Warden’s life is full of difficult choices and duty blah, blah, blah, and _sacrifice_.”

“Maker’s breath, whoever that sod is sounds worse than Alistair,” Cousland murmured softly.

“Oh, you had one too?” Anders grumbled. He remembered the name, in passing. Well, truthfully he remembered the name quite clearly, though it surprised him that Cousland would utter it with such enormous disdain. Then again, Anders only knew one side of what happened at Kinloch Circle - and not the side of the Hero of Fereldan’s surely. Cousland didn’t much speak of it. Anders wondered if he regretted what happened - he _hoped_ Aeden regretted what happened.

In any case, Anders remembered Alistair being the one to behead Wynne during the Rite of Annulment. And therefore, he did not particularly care for Alistair. The mage eyed the rogue next to him warily now that he had “told it to Aedan’s face.”

Cousland sighed and shook his head. A cat of all things…

Still, it wasn’t really the place to make comments on the duties, sacrifices, and rules of the Grey Wardens. Vigil’s Keep didn’t provide an atmosphere of criticism. It was an unspoken rule not to speak of the fact the Wardens, despite being neutral and uninvolved with politics, through the actions of two sorry survivors of Ostagar decided the kingship of Orzammar _and_ Fereldan - the latter now having a Grey Warden as it’s Prince Consort. This among many, many other offenses committed in the past few years.

A cat weakening the resolve of one mage was the least of their concerns.

“Who made the call?”

Anders shook his head with a shrug and a sigh. “That doesn’t matter,” he began, causing the rogue to arch his brows inquiringly. “I don’t really think it came from the top so much as it did from… other people.”

“Other people?” Aeden parroted with a much darker tone. His eyes narrowed - he knew this game. He played this game quite frequently, someone pulling the invisible strings to achieve the results one wanted. It was someone else then that had their sights on Anders. Weaken him before the final blow, no doubt. Aeden was determined for this not to happen.

“He’s…” Anders paused and glanced about, this wasn’t safe. He didn’t feel safe - and it was dangerous to talk here but, perhaps Aeden would shield him. He had thus far. He had been most loyal, even after witnessing him in more than incriminating circumstances, and even attempting to retrieve his phylactery with him.

Leaning close, Anders found the ex-Commander leaning toward him in turn, understanding the need for hushed whispers. To his surprise, Anders felt Aeden’s arm drape familiarly across his shoulders. See? Old comrades sharing a drink, war stories… commiserating over the horrid nightmares Warden always have. Nothing to see here.

“I think it came from my partner, Rolan… No, I’m sure of it,” Anders said with such heat to his voice that it made Cousland’s breath still. He had very rarely seen Anders in such a fit of anger. The good-hearted, freedom-loving mage seldom found a reason to. Cousland remained silent, encouraging Anders to explain further.

“He has it out for me - and I’m not crazy. I know how it must look, but it’s not paranoia. He’s an ex-Templar, joined after his chantry was destroyed during the Blight and–”

Cousland was nodding. He understood perfectly, there was little more that Anders needed to say. There was a certain history surrounding the mage and his origins. After all, Anders escaped the Rite of Annulment enacted at Kinlock Circle. Aedan had been surprised initially to see a mage of that Circle: they had all be murdered. Mostly by the hands of himself and his companions.

It was an accident, he swore. There was some arguing, and one really messed up Templar in a weird magic bubble. One miscommunication later and their guide Wynne had turned on them - from there the Templar assumed the Rite of Annulment had been approved and boom: blood everywhere. Well, more blood than there had been already. Honestly, all he meant was that he didn’t like the Circles, not that he didn’t like mages. Hell, he’d been romantically involved with a mage at the time - but apparently, apostates from the Kocari Wilds don’t count in these situations.

There wasn’t a day he didn’t regret it. And now… well, one escaped mage (and Cousland still wasn’t sure how Ander’s escaped, but there were many many dark corners to hide in in the Circle, so he wasn’t terribly surprised) apparently meant that through him terrible demonic entities would be unleashed into the world. They’d be utterly doomed and no amount of bloodshed or desperate prayers would save them from the horror. The Maker would reject his children all together and yadda, yadda yadda… Doom Upon All the World.

Seriously, taking away a cat would probably make the whole situation more likely, but hey, Aedan wasn’t a Templar. How would he know?

“Anders, I’m going to rescue Ser Pounce-A-Lot. I swear it,” Cousland finally said, turning his gaze back to his friend. Anders smiled faintly back at him, convinced of his sincerity, but unconvinced that a happy ending was in his stars. It never had been before.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This is the first ever piece of fanfiction I wrote. How about that mofo's.


End file.
